Bob the Cultist

I dunno if it's because of the tits in my face. I dunno if it's because the cult leader has his hand drawn inside his cloak 'silencing the demons within'. I dunno if it's because I'm tying up a woman to a cross, Jesus-style, waiting for my death so that me, the woman and my pal Dian can be killed. Some reenactment of a scene in the Bible. It made sense when the Leader explained it.

Anyway I don't know why but at that moment I was thinking clearly.

Then I'd gone along with it. Joined the mad rave to the village. Me and my pals 'purged' the guys. Laughed along with the others as the Leader called forth a virgin woman from the squirming heap of people in the church. I was excited when the leader handpicked me, and elated when I got to do the ritual with my best pal.

After we were done stripping the woman. After the cross was standing in position. After the cult leader stopped talking while we tied the girl to the cross.

I saw her tit. It wasn't special. A little on the small side. Pale as the woman it belonged to. But the moment I saw it something clicked. Everything slowed to a crawl and I was in my own little world. A world where tits were important. A world where tits had a special place.

I was in my teenage years. Tits, tits and more tits. Stealing porn mags from a shop. Giggling around the campfire as me and my buddies talked about hot girls with big tits and big asses. It reminded me of my room. The calendar I had with monster trucks and scantly clad women.

A fond memory of my mum scowling me about the very same calendar popped up. Then a memory of her consoling me after calling me a 'clit-licking douche bag'. My dad consoling her consoling me after he'd called her a bitch one too many times. Both of their proud faces as I graduated and moved to the city to seek work. Their prouder faces as I helped them find separate houses.

Houses in the city. Where I lived with Cassandra. Now those were tits. First thing that came to mind as she walked up to me and asked for directions was how to get my hands on those.

There months later and I had my face buried in those tits. Nine months later me and my kid had our faces buried in those tits. Two years later my kid had his face buried in them as I stood limp watching my wife glaring at me with hatred. They - the tits were stained with tears. What happened with consoling each other after going overboard? Guess her family was different.

One month later and I was alone paying child support. One day later I was drunk off my ass walking down the street right up to a crowd with a guy in the center yelling some nice sounding bullshit. I was sold.

It was small stuff at first. Picking up groceries. Praying and singing together. Building a community. There was the odd 'cleansing' gathering every once in a while.

Until that became the regular.

Now that I think about it the noises from the 'cleansing' were probably why we moved to a remote forest camp.

And with the closing of my wooden camp door came the closure of any doubt I had in the Leader. It was so fun and peaceful doing what he said.

Between all the noise from our gatherings. Avoiding breaking all the bullshit rules. Between the community building. I had no time to think. I thought what the others thought and the others thought what the Leader thought.

That is until I saw that tit.

It gave me focus. Grounded me in reality. I was me. I was not we. I saw the tit up close. The others. The cheering crowd behind me. All of them wearing cloaks. They didn't see this this tit. I was Bob and I was gonna feel up those tits.

And I did. I buried my face right into those tits. I felt them up with my hands. Their tender skin met my face, longing for such contact. There was cheering behind me. I dislodged my face from the tits. Dian was grinning at me. I glanced at the Leader. He was too busy 'silencing the demons behind his cloak' to really say anything.

I looked around me. A river flowing a few meters behind the cross. A clearing around me where I, they and the tits were positioned. I looked at the woman to whom the tits belonged. She looked back at me.

Standing on my tiptoes I forcefully grabbed her cheeks and kissed her tender neck.

I whispered to her and she gave the faintest of nods.

Charging forward I punched the cultist that had been helping me. In my side vision I saw the woman successfully untying her tied hand. Using the moment of confusion I charged the Leader who was fumbling with his hand in his cloak. I went for his crotch.

His hand was there, underneath the cloak gripping something. I grabbed his hand and squeezed, he squealed.

The woman ran and I followed.

A massive crowd, complete with screams, vulgarities and thrown weapons followed us as we entered the woods. No time for subtlety, she ran through bushes and branches and I followed.

She collapsed and I sidestepped to avoid stepping on her.

The woman got up, most of her weight on one leg. With it she jumped towards me, reaching under my cloak for my knife. She turned towards the sound of the approaching stampede of robed people and made a sweeping gesture, inclining that I run.

That night, I wasn't Bob the Hero, I walked away.

I wasn't Bob the Cultist either, I discarded my cloak.

I was just regular Bob who called his parents from town.